


You Must Forget This

by jedi_penguin



Category: As Time Goes By
Genre: Crossgen, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedi_penguin/pseuds/jedi_penguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She has a perfect male specimen in her bed, so why is she thinking about Lionel?</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Must Forget This

**Author's Note:**

> Missing scene from "The Elephant-killer and His Chum" (The fourth episode of the first season)
> 
> Written for the multi-fandom cross-generational ficathon.

His chest was flawless. Not muscled, but toned and completely free of fat or flab. He was rather pale, but given a choice between a lack of tan or a lack of liver spots, she'd choose white skin any day of the week. An appreciative gaze downwards confirmed her impression from the previous night that his torso wasn't the only part of him that was flawless.

How many years had it been since she'd seen a body like this first thing in the morning? She'd slept with half a dozen men since her husband died, but none of them had looked anything like her lover from the night before. Of course, it had been over twenty years since she'd had sex with a man in his thirties and that might have something to do with it, but probably not much. In fact, Jean suspected that none of the men she'd known since David's death would have compared favorably with Alistair even when they **had** been in their prime.

David could have matched Alistair, once upon a time. Outstripped him, even. The same features that made his sister look like a horse had given him stunning good looks. Tall and angular, with well-defined muscles and two shocks of flaming red hair, one on his head and one… elsewhere. At the time of their marriage, he could have a made a good living as a male model. Try as she might, however, Jean couldn't remember the way he'd looked then. She knew that he'd been perfect in the early days of their marriage, but she couldn't **remember** it. When she closed her eyes and thought about David, the only images that came to mind were of a wasted man blending into his pillow. The hard angles that she'd admired so much were all gone in her memories, replaced by jutting bones and sunken cheeks. David counted among lovers with perfect bodies, but if she couldn't remember him that way then it hardly counted, did it? Or rather, David did count, but was unfairly hobbled in early morning comparisons.

Sad to say, the last time perfect chest she could remember waking beside had been attached to… Lionel.

Lionel. She didn't want to think about Lionel. It was Lionel's fault that she was here this morning.

No, that wasn't right. She should be **thanking** Lionel. If he hadn't been such a revolting old dog, falling over that garish bit of stuff with bleached-out brains, she wouldn't be here this morning, now would she? She was happy to be here, of course she was! Mind-blowing sex and a lover with a flawless body—what else could a woman of mature years want?

_Lionel. She wanted Lionel._

She hadn't meant to sleep with Alistair. She wishes she could tell herself that it was planned, that she was a nineties' woman who got exactly what she wanted, but she's just not that good at lying to herself. No, the truth was, she'd never intended to push things this far. She'd only wanted to needle Lionel. To get back at him. Flirting with his despised but needed publisher had seemed like a perfect means to an end… at least it had when she'd been sipping sherry and warming herself with Lionel's fiery glare. The reality had proven otherwise.

Alistair turned out to witty, amusing, and charming. And persistent. And, frankly, a pest. Worst of all, he had some bizarre Tina Turner obsession and was apparently convinced that she, Jean, could "strut her stuff" in just the same fashion. No, she really hadn't meant to sleep with Alistair.

So why had she? At what point had this encounter become inevitable? Had it been when he'd accused her of having some sort of "hang up" about her age? How had that conversation gone?

~*~*~

"I'm not screwed up age!" she protested. "It's **you** that's screwed up about age! You're screwed up with this fantasy about older women. "

Alistair put on smug look for finally getting under her skin and responded, "Mature."

"Older," she corrected firmly.

He ignored her and continued, "And it's not a fantasy."

Pushed beyond endurance, she stood up in frustration and announced, "Oh, I'm going to bed."

Alistair's reaction? A big grin and an emphatic, "Now you're talking!"

~*~*~

No, that hadn't been it. Definitely not. She'd been irritated, not intrigued. So why **did** she change her mind?

_ Lionel. It was when he started talking about Lionel._

No, it wasn't. Who he sleeps with is his business and none of her concern. She was hardly likely to base her actions on that old fool, now was she?

~*~*~

She was almost out the door when Alistair stopped her with a single question. "What if I were Lionel?"

Feigning boredom, she responded, "He'd have dropped off in his chair by now. Good night."

"You think so?" Alistair asked skeptically. "He looked ready for a big night to me."

"At his age, a 'big night' probably consists of bread pudding and a glass of warm milk."

"I wouldn't count on that. Not to judge by Denise, anyway."

"That tart?" Jean sniffed. "She's an intellectual vacuum. Why would you judge anything by her?"

"You're right, of course." Alistair leaned back in corner of the settee and fixed her with a shrewd glance. "I can't imagine what Lionel's playing at. He baffles me, really. Wasting his time with a chippy like that when he has a woman like you in his life? I thought he was brighter than that."

Jean drifted back into the room, almost against her will. She paused by the chair, but moved past it and sat down next to Alistair on the settee. "What makes you think I'm in his life? Perhaps he'd just met me when he took me to your party."

"You came to Norwich for him," Alistair pointed out. "Not the most exciting place in England, Norwich. And, frankly, Lionel's speeches usually aren't terribly eventful… tonight's lecture excepted. There's only one reason why a woman like you—"

"What do you mean, " she demanded sharply, 'a woman like me'?"

"Hey, hey. Calm down." Alistair lifted his hands placatingly. "I just meant that you must be a busy woman. You run a highly successful business, and I know all the headaches that go along with being the head honcho. You're hardly likely to run off to Norwich on a whim, now are you?"

"That's true," Jean admitted. "But perhaps I'm just terribly interested in Kenya."

"You told me you read the book, didn't you?" Jean nodded. "Well there you go then. You knew what he'd be talking about, and yet you came anyway. So… If you didn't come for the lecture and you didn't come for the sights, you could only have come for Lionel."

Defeated, Jean shrugged. "So what if I did?"

"So what?" he asked in amazement. "That was amazingly thoughtful and generous of you. The effort of an angel, in fact. And how does he repay his angel? By going off with a loud-mouthed hussy."

"I'm hardly an angel."

"Aren't you?" Alistair asked with a rakish grin as he removed his glasses again. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Alistair! I don't think—"

"All right. Fine. But I still maintain that Lionel has very strange taste in women."

"Well, thank you very much!" Jean huffed.

"I didn't mean you, of course! I meant Denise! Why he'd pick her over you boggles all understanding."

"He hardly picked her over me. We're not involved like that."

"Oh, no?" he purred. Alistair sidled a bit closer. "So, exactly how are you involved then? You were quite adroit at avoiding any mention of Lionel on the train and I'm dying of curiosity."

"You don't want to hear about us," she muttered. "It's ancient history. Boring and stupid."

"Dry?"

Even though she had just claimed that their relationship was boring, Jean felt unaccountably stung by that charge. "I suppose one could see it that way."

"Then why don't you come up to my room and tell me all about it over a bottle of champagne?" He raised his hands against her certain objections. "We don't have to do anything more than talk and drink, if that's all you want. I guarantee that's a lot more innocent than whatever Lionel's doing at the moment."

Jean glared at him, determined to go to her own bed and put this awful day behind her. Which is why she was so shocked when she heard herself say, "Oh, what the hell. It's been ages since I've had decent champagne."

"Decent? Lovely lady, you cut me to the quick!" Alistair arose and then proceeded to pull Jean up. He didn't let go of her hand once she was standing. "It'll be **monster**!"

~*~*~

She shouldn't have agreed; there had never been any question in her mind that they would limit themselves to champagne. How had she ever thought that sleeping with a man that her daughter had a crush upon could possibly be a good idea?

Oh, good Lord. Judith.

She hadn't seen her daughter since she and Alistair left the Master's residence. Judith was certain to be worried about her. Or, worse, she wouldn't be worried at all. She'd know exactly why Jean hadn't come back to their room and she'd be full of smirks and comments and insufferable innuendoes. Just look at how Judith had been about Lionel ever since she'd met him.

_Lionel. Judith would mention this to Lionel and he'd want nothing more to do with her. He'd disappear from her life again, just as quickly and completely as he did before._

Not that Jean cared what Lionel thought. Of course she didn't. Hadn't they both agreed that whom she slept with was none of his business? She just didn't want Judith to be hurt again.

She needed to get back to her room. If she got there before Judith woke up, perhaps she could claim that she just had a late night. Judith wouldn't believe her of course, but Jean would have enough deniability to shut the girl up. Maybe.

Jean slowly sat up and peeled the covers away. She was just about ready to stand up when a possessive arm shot out and pinned her to the bed. "And just where do you think you're going, lovely lady?"

"I, uh, need to get to my room. Before Judith wakes up."

"I may be mistaken," Alistair drawled, "but I rather thought she was old enough to dress herself these days."

Jean tried to shrug off his arm. He was too strong for her to get away from him without some effort on her part, and she wasn't ready to make that much of a fool of herself yet. Irritated, she settled back into his embrace. "I'm not sure that I'm comfortable discussing my daughter's dressing habits while I'm in bed with a bloke she fancies."

"So what if she fancies me?" Alistair asked with a shrug. "It's not mutual. I told you last night; she's too young for me. It's you that I want."

"Still?" Jean asked doubtfully. "If last night proved anything, it's that I'm no Tina Turner."

"No, you're not," he agreed gravely. A boyish smile suddenly broke upon his face, making him look far too young for her. "You're better! I mean— WOOF!"

"Alistair! That's absurd. I mean, look at me!"

"I am," he purred. "I've never seen a woman look so perfectly rumpled in the morning."

"You've never seen a woman so desperately in need of make-up in the morning," Jean corrected him. "I know quite well that this is not my best time of the day."

"You need better mirrors. You look fantastic."

"And you need a stronger prescription for your spectacles." Alistair gave her a smug smile but said nothing. Embarrassed, Jean demanded, "What?"

"It's you. You're embarrassed."

"Embarrassed? What? No!" Alistair continued to grin and Jean felt herself blushing furiously. "Well, all right. Maybe I am. One-night stands just seem so… **tacky**. This is my first one, actually."

Alistair stared at her intently. There was something hiding in his eyes that Jean couldn't quite interpret. Hurt, perhaps? Surely not. "What makes you think this was a one-night stand?"

"Oh, come on, Alistair. Rich young movers and shakers don't get involved with older women. It's not good for the image." Jean barked out a humorless laugh. "I mean, can you really see me on your arm at a party?"

"As a matter of fact, I can." Jean shook her head and stood up over his protests. "But you're never going to believe that, are you?"

Jean sighed and sat down on a chair. This put her at Alistair's eye-level but out of his reach. "Alistair, we both know what last night was about. You wanted to explore your fantasy about old—erm, **mature** women; I wanted to assuage my pride after Lionel went off with that bit of stuff. Last night was… convenient. For both of us. Nice, but hardly lasting."

"Is that what you think?"

"That's what I know." She stood up again and began throwing on clothes. "Look. I'm sorry, Alistair. I know that I must sound terribly cold this morning, but—"

"But you'd rather forget the whole thing."

"Well, I… Yes, I rather think I would."

"So would I." Alistair smiled sadly.

Jean expected to feel badly that Alistair agreed so easily. Hurt, insulted, used, **something**. Instead, all she felt was an overpowering sense of relief. And no small amount of shame over that relief.

_Lionel. There was no reason for Lionel to ever find out what happened last night._

Not that it was any of Lionel's business, of course. Just that he could be so archaic and chauvinistic and irritating. He'd make comments and she didn't want to hear them. Plus, there was Judith to consider. Yes, her life would be much, much simpler if her silliness from the night before were to just disappear.

"So!' Alistair clapped his hands and Jean jumped as she was pulled back from her wandering thoughts. "What I'd like to propose is this: last night never happened. Or rather, the nightcap in my room never happened. I gracefully let you leave the first time you said 'good night,' whereupon you went to your room and slept like the angel you are."

"I thought we covered my lack of angelic qualities last night."

"Ah, no. The conversation never progressed that far, if you'll recall."

"So it didn't," Jean murmured. She sat down on the bed, picked up his hand and squeezed it gratefully. "Thank you."

"Hey, no prob." He smiled confidently. "Besides, I'm not being altogether altruistic here. You say that you're not comfortable having sex with a relative stranger."

"That's true, I'm afraid." She shrugged wryly. "Some generational differences simply can't be gapped."

"I've come to realize that. So, if I want a woman from your generation, I'll have to do it your way."

"If you want-- I'm not sure what you're getting at, Alistair."

The young man expansively propped himself against the wall, hands behind his head, and gave Jean his widest smile to date. "I've got to woo you!"

"Woo?"

"Certainly! I'll shower you with gifts. Flowers, chocolates, balloons – I'll have you swimming in them." He chuckled happily. "It should be rather fun, actually. I've never pressed my suit the old-fashioned way before."

Jean felt her heart sink. She should have known that she couldn't escape her irresponsible behavior that easily. "I thought we agreed that none of last night occurred."

"_Au contraire_," Alistair asserted. "We agreed that we were going to forget about the latter part of the evening; nothing was said about the beginning."

"The beginning?"

"The beginning! When I was flirting and you were succumbing to my undeniable charms."

"I was doing no such thing!"

"Perhaps not," Alistair conceded with a shrug. "But you would have, in time."

"You're awfully sure of yourself," Jean observed.

"Of course I am. Who wouldn't fall for Alistair Deacon eventually? No one could **possibly** be immune. Why, I even avoid mirrors, for fear that I'd break my own heart."

Jean burst into giggles and Alistair grinned along before suddenly sobering. "Seriously. I hit below the belt when I mentioned Lionel. I'm sorry about that. That isn't the way I wanted to bring you to my bed, so I'd like us back up a bit and start over."

"I wouldn't. I'm sorry, Alistair, but a relationship with you just wouldn't work." Her eyes strayed towards his flawless chest and Jean let out a small, regretful sigh. "You're just too young for me."

His eyes sparkled. "A challenge! Monster!"

She shook her head in disbelief. "Monster? Did you even hear me?"

"Of course I did. You're going to lead me a merry chase… which just makes the reward all the sweeter in the end."

Jean felt a flash of irritation at the suggestion that she was a "reward," but it couldn't hold up to her sense of wonder at how **young** he'd sounded just then. Relationships were games to Alistair, and in the end, he was just a very small boy. Perfect body or not, there was no way she'd ever sleep with him again.

_Lionel. Lionel could stand to have a bit of competition. He'd stop taking her for granted then, wouldn't he?_

But perhaps Alistair didn't need to know that. It was years since she'd been wooed, and it might be rather fun.

"Well then," she finally said. "I expect I'll be hearing from you once we're back in London."

"Count on it, lovely lady. Count on it."

As Jean left Alistair's room and made her way back to her own, she couldn't help but wonder what she'd let _Lionel_ herself in for.

 

THE END


End file.
